


You and I, You and I

by ShowMeAHero



Series: Ours [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel
Genre: Babies, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Family, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 23:19:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3873655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Describe her to me again,” Matt asks. Foggy hums to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You and I, You and I

**Author's Note:**

> I'm fucking filth. I have finals literally this week and I've been writing fucking Daredevil fanfiction camouflaged as a study guide in case my roommate looks over. Whatever. We're all trashy avocados in the end.
> 
> Title taken from "You and I" by Ingrid Michaelson.

It was mostly silent when Matt, laying on the sofa, shifted, startling Foggy out of the open-eyed half-sleep that he had zoned out into in the armchair next to him. Matt reached out blearily, feeling for Foggy until Foggy just lifted his arm and let Matt find his wrist, his long fingers circling, his thumb running over his pulse point. Matt tipped his head back, as if to hear better.

“Describe her to me again,” Matt said softly, only a hint of a question in his tone. Foggy let his head fall to rest against the back of the armchair. He hummed once.

“She’s got red hair,” Foggy told him. “Well, you know. Not really red. I’d probably call it orange, to be honest.”

“Orange like what?”

“Orange like…” Foggy paused, thinking. Matt could hear his heartbeat, beating steadily. It kept him grounded. “Orange like a goldfish. No, wait, I can do better than that-”

“Orange like a goldfish,” Matt repeated, grinning. Foggy groaned, half-laughing.

“ _Never_ tell her that.”

“Foggy, I think it’ll have to be the first thing I tell her.”

“I hate you, and you’ll never tell her,” Foggy stated. He pulled his hand free from Matt’s grasp to run it through his hair. “Orange like a sunset, I guess, if I’m going to be nicer than ‘goldfish’. Like, do you remember when the leaves would change, when you were a kid?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Like that,” Foggy said. “Yeah. When the leaves first change, and they’re still kinda that orange, but they’re starting to turn brown. It’s like that, that darkish orange.”

“Should I apologize to her for the red hair?”

“Maybe that should be the first thing you tell her,” Foggy suggested. They were both quiet for a moment. “She’s got these weird hazel eyes.”

“I’m not telling her that one.”

“Nobody tell her that one,” Foggy agreed. “They are weird, though. More like blue and brown than green and brown. Maybe all three. It’s weird.”

“But they’re good eyes?”

“Very good eyes,” Foggy assured him. “You know, it’s not a genetic thing. You can stop worrying. And I’m not going to dump her in a barrel of radioactive waste, so. She’s going to be fine.”

“I know, I know,” Matt said, turning a little, tipping his head so he was facing in the direction Foggy’s words were coming from. “You know, I just-”

“You worry,” Foggy interrupted. “Yeah, I know you worry. She’s fine, though. Looks right at me and everything. She loves Karen, she’s always looking at her, I bet Karen bribes her when we’re not paying attention.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Matt agreed, smiling. Foggy nodded.

“She’s got some freckles,” Foggy continued. “Not a lot. Mostly across her nose. They’re orange, too.”

“Like a goldfish?”

“I actually hate you. No, not like a goldfish.” Foggy was quiet again, thinking. Matt waited in silence, letting his head rest on the arm of the sofa. “Like paprika.”

“I don’t remember ever seeing paprika,” Matt admitted. Foggy laughed.

“No sane nine-year-old would ever have a reason to see paprika.”

“That’s valid.”

“Paprika is… it’s like pepper, but a little softer, and it’s redder.”

“Okay. Paprika freckles.”

“Paprika freckles. She’ll need a lot of sunscreen.”

“Well, she’s Irish.”

“Poor girl,” Foggy joked. He took a deep breath, near a heavy sigh. Matt reached out again, finding Foggy’s wrist without help this time. Foggy turned his hand, letting their palms slide together. “She looks like you.”

“Does she?”

“Yeah,” Foggy answered. “Lucky thing, too.”

“What do we have in common?”

Foggy was silent. Then, “Your mouth. Your eyes are the same shape, too. And she has your nose, almost exactly. Hers is straighter, since she hasn’t broken it like you have, you dipshit.”

“Why am I in trouble?”

“Because you are.” Foggy was quiet again. “I wish you could see her.”

“I know,” Matt said, his voice a little strained, because he _did_ , he had never wanted anything _more_. He let go of Foggy’s wrist and sat up on the sofa. He extended his arms. “Can I have her again?”

Matt listened as Foggy tiredly got up out of the armchair and moved the two steps to the sofa to carefully place the sleeping infant in Matt’s arms, helping him correctly adjust for her position, where her head was, where her limbs were. Matt was fairly certain (about one hundred percent certain, actually) where all of her was, could hear her heartbeat, clear as a bell, but he loved how cautious Foggy was with her, how vigilant he was. Foggy played along.

Matt finally settled back, Foggy collapsing next to him on the sofa, half-sprawled along the empty space. Matt ran his fingertips gently over her face, feeling for her features.

“She feels like you.”

“She’s soft like me.”

“She’s got your nose, not mine.”

“Who’s got eyes here?”

“We’ve both got eyes, Foggy,” Matt said, smiling, and Foggy knocked his shoulder. “No, see, it turns up a little at the end there, that’s you.”

“That’s also actually impossible.”

“I don’t know.” Foggy knocked against him again, but left his head resting on Matt’s shoulder. Matt wished he could see what he saw, just for a second. “She’s certainly just as stubborn as you.”

“Yeah, I’m the stubborn one.” Foggy yawned, his jaw cracking against Matt’s shoulder, and Matt turned his head towards the sound.

“You should get some rest.”

“Pot, kettle.” Foggy shifted, his arm moving away from Matt’s side. He started threading his fingers through her hair. “We probably both should. We have to be up in a few hours.”

Silence, again. Matt listened to the small sounds in his apartment, to Foggy’s steady heartbeat, and to his breaths, that got deeper the more tired he got; to her light heartbeat, level and tiny under his palm, to her even breaths, small and warm. To his own heartbeat, thudding in his chest. Foggy finally shifted again, dragging himself up from the sofa.

“Hand her over, we’re going to bed,” Foggy instructed.

“She can stay with us.”

“She’s not supposed to.”

“Just this once, then.”

Foggy was quiet for a moment. Matt knew he was smiling.

“You say that every night,” Foggy said, but his tone was acquiescing. Matt passed her up to him.

“Should we put ‘orange like a goldfish’ in her book?”

“We’ll take one name out of her book if you keep it up, Murdock.”

“Just saying.”

“So am I.”

Silence.

“Do you think she’s happy?”

Foggy smiled again.

“Who wouldn’t be?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine her name to be Jackie, but you can think whatever you want, I never said any name in here.
> 
> You can follow me on Twitter at [@nicoIodeon](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


End file.
